


Like No One Has Dared Before

by IndigoDream



Series: Lovesong [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Song - Freeform, canon can die, god jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Jaskier can say it in as many languages as he wants, can whisper it in the deep of the night, can shout it every single day, it doesn’t change anything. Geralt neverlistensto him. It’s three little words, three words easy for him to overlook and pretend that he doesn’t hear. Geralt says those words to Jaskier, presses them softly in his skin when he kisses it, imprints them on his lips with every kiss. But whenever Jaskier says them back, whenever Jaskier is the first to say those words, he sees the mistrust in the eyes of his lover. He sees the way his shoulders tense and his face smooths over in an impassable mask, except for his golden eyes that tell Jaskier all the stories in the world.Jaskier can’t tell Geralt he loves him.--Jaskier and Geralt love each other, but Geralt has troubles listening to Jaskier when he says it. Jaskier decides to change that.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Lovesong [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744294
Comments: 19
Kudos: 357





	Like No One Has Dared Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello~ 
> 
> Today's my BIRTHDAY! So I decided to treat myself and post the first of the lovesong series :D 
> 
> It's sweet and tender and lots of love <3
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> OH And the lovely Thewonderfulthingaboutfish did a drawing of this fic <33 Go check it out!! 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24167488

Jaskier can say it in as many languages as he wants, can whisper it in the deep of the night, can shout it every single day, it doesn’t change anything. Geralt never  _ listens _ to him. It’s three little words, three words easy for him to overlook and pretend that he doesn’t hear. Geralt says those words to Jaskier, presses them softly in his skin when he kisses it, imprints them on his lips with every kiss. But whenever Jaskier says them back, whenever Jaskier is the first to say those words, he sees the mistrust in the eyes of his lover. He sees the way his shoulders tense and his face smooths over in an impassable mask, except for his golden eyes that tell Jaskier all the stories in the world. 

Jaskier can’t tell Geralt he loves him. Not because he doesn’t want to, not because he can’t say the words. He can’t tell Geralt he loves him because Geralt doesn’t  _ listen _ . He brushes it off, ignores the words, avoids Jaskier’s pleading caresses. At first, Jaskier had thought that perhaps he had done something wrong. Perhaps it was his fault if Geralt hated hearing the words, perhaps he needed to express it first through actions before allowing them to be whispered tenderly and to receive that same tender look from Geralt. 

No amount of helping him after hunts, of caring for him and giving him gifts changed that. No amount of making sure that Geralt always had everything he needed before leaving or of caring for Roach, making sure the mare was in peak condition, has changed all of it. It’s devastating thing for Jaskier to realize that, no matter what, Geralt doesn’t listen to him when he tells him he loves him. 

It comes to him late one night, when Geralt is sleeping with his head on Jaskier’s chest, their naked bodies intertwined so much Jaskier can only tell the difference from the darker shade of his own skin. Geralt’s hair is soft and well brushed under Jaskier’s hand as he caresses it, enjoying the silkiness of it. It’s not that his lover doesn’t believe him. It’s that he doesn’t believe those words can ever apply to him. Geralt thinks of himself as unlovable. Jaskier is well determined to fix that.

He doesn’t sleep much that night. Whoever made Geralt believe that will pay for it, he’ll make sure of it. But for now, he has to figure out how to let Geralt know that he is loveable, that Jaskier truly does love him, with every fiber of his being. It’s not really anything he can ask about; Geralt is still terrible with feelings and talking about the things that truly hit him. It’s a miracle already that they managed to find this little piece of bliss, where Jaskier gets to hold onto Geralt, to kiss him and love him, and he gets the same back. Well. A miracle is a big word when Jaskier worked very hard on making sure Geralt knew he wanted him. Clearly not hard enough though. 

Morning comes, and Geralt blinks awake, drowsy only for a few cherished minutes. He lets himself be pulled into tender kisses and soft contemplation, and then he gets a good look at Jaskier. 

“You didn’t sleep well.” There is an accusatory note in his voice, and Jaskier huffs slightly, indignant and amused. “Did something bother you?” 

“Yes,” Jaskier answers honestly and cradles Geralt’s cheek. “I was kept awake by my never ending love for you, my dear.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes at the distraction and moves up. “I need to go see if there is any contract for me to take.” 

“You don’t have to,” Jaskier protests, gripping his hand and tugging him closer again slightly. “Stay here today, enjoy the day with me. We can stay in bed, have fun, just be with each other. We arrived late last night, don’t we deserve a day off?” 

Geralt’s eyes soften. “You rest up then. Stay in bed and I’ll come back to you. I need to earn our stay.” 

“I’m more than good for it,” Jaskier insists and stands up as well. “Come on Geralt. It’s just one day, you don’t have to be witchering all the time. You can enjoy some time with the man who loves you.” 

It’s those last words that make Geralt’s jaw tighten again. He dresses quickly and efficiently, his movements fast and precise, and Jaskier wants to yell at him. Doesn’t he understand that Jaskier loves him more than he has ever loved anyone before? Doesn’t he see the devotion plain in each tender caress, in each look and word exchanged? 

“I’ll be back this evening,” the witcher says when he is done pulling on his outfit, armour included, and his eyes have regained some warmth as he looks at his lover, sitting quietly on the sun warmed bed. “Be nice until then.” 

Jaskier pouts a bit. “Do I not get even a kiss before you abandon me, witcher?” 

The white haired man chuckles and bends down to press a tender kiss to the expecting mouth. “Don’t get into any trouble.” 

“You are the only trouble worth getting into,” Jaskier grins and laughs at the unimpressed stare he gets in return. “You know you love me!” 

“Unfortunately,” Geralt sighs and captures his lips in another kiss, more searing and full of promises. “I really, really do.” 

Before Jaskier even has a chance to get over the dazzling kiss and admission, Geralt is out of the door and walking down the hallway back to the main room of the inn. After all, rumours will have no doubt spread that the White Wolf is in town by now. Despite the late hour, there had been plenty of people in the streets of the town they had stopped in the previous evening. They had only veered towards the town at Jaskier’s request, who wanted to enjoy a real bed for once. 

Well, the bed and the absolutely lovely side effect of his lover fully relaxed under his hands and making the warmest noises. They don’t really get to be intimate this way on the road; it’s always hands and mouth, despite Jaskier’s insistence that, if Geralt were in the mood, they probably could without any problems. After all, it’s not like either is particularly sensible to human diseases. Geralt is a witcher, and Jaskier is a Muse. 

It’s a bit ironic, he thinks, how much he creates when he is, supposedly, one of the divinity that is supposed to inspire people. But well, he has his own muse. He thinks of his siblings briefly as he pulls his notebook and quill after having gotten dressed. Out of the nine of them, Jaskier is the only one, that he knows of at least, who has ever created something of this magnitude. Every song he creates, every time he sings, he feels his powers humming happily. That’s how he inspire people to create.

The shirt he has taken is Geralt’s and it hangs too large on him, but he loves it. He adores the scent of campfire and sweat mixed with leather and silver from Geralt’s armour, and even the faint smell of horse and hay. It’s just like being wrapped in Geralt’s arms, and at least for once there is not the stench of blood. The worse is whenever the blood is Geralt’s. Jaskier hates when he catches a whiff of his lover’s blood. Geralt isn’t the only one with sharp senses. 

When he picks up his quill to start writing, he finds it astonishing how easily it comes. He might be a Muse, might be the Muse of writing in fact, it doesn’t mean that everything always come easily to him. Writing remains a bit of a struggle, when what he wants to say needs to be said in precise words. It doesn’t help of course that he is not writing in his mother tongue. Muses don’t exactly speak the common mortal languages. 

One of those days, he’ll tell Geralt his feelings in the language of the Muses, the language of creation, but today it would be overwhelming. Jaskier’s native tongue acts a bit like a compulsion for mortals— they are forced to accept it, to hear it as the truth it is, but they can’t ever remember the words. He won’t do it to Geralt, not without talking about it with him first.

The words pour out of him so easily, and he still scrambles back and erases some words, but it seems that declaring his love is easier than he had thought. He is aware that the lyrics are a bit simple, slightly repetitive too, but… It’s the right words, the right way to phrase it. Unless Jaskier truly insists, truly drives the point home, Geralt will always refuse to believe him when he tells him he loves him. And he can’t stand the idea of that. He knows and feels Geralt’s love beating inside of him at every moment, even during their arguments; it is unjust that Geralt does not have the same certitude bringing him joy and comfort on lonely days spent apart. 

So Jaskier writes, and writes, and forgets time passing.

“How long have you been sitting here writing,” Geralt asks as he stands in the doorway, a frown settled deeply on his face. 

Jaskier startles slightly. He hadn’t even noticed his lover coming back. “Have you been here a long time?” 

“Long enough to know your body must hurt. Come on, you need to eat.” Geralt comes closer and attempts to take the notebook from Jaskier gently, but the Muse startles, spilling the ink all over himself from where it was balancing precariously on his knee. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier swears and closes his songbook fast, avoiding any ink spilling on it as he lifts it in the air. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

Geralt is already picking back up the ink, but the damage has been done.| Jaskier’s pants are ruined, and so are the sheets of the bed. This means paying more to replace them, unless they leave without saying anything, but the idea of it doesn’t sit right with him. It’s one thing to dirty the blankets and pillows with oil that is easily washable, quite another to do so with an ink that cost a fortune to get. He supposes he’ll have to sing that night then, for more than just Geralt. He needs to earn their stay. 

“Are you alright?” The Witcher’s voice is concerned and Jaskier nods, eager to reassure him. “I’ll get us a bath, and we’ll get you new pants tomorrow.” 

“It’s alright,” he says as he stands up with a sigh. He had liked those pants, they were a beautiful shade of lilac. “I have two other pairs, and I should travel lighter, you’ve always said so.” 

“You love your clothing too much for that,” Geralt rumbles and kisses his forehead. “I’ve got the coin from the recent contract. Two kikimoras. I’m good for this.” 

Jaskier sighs and nods. “Thank you love.”

He hates feeling like he is a drain on Geralt, hates knowing that, were it not for him, Geralt would be able to afford more comforts. But he also knows that without him, Geralt wouldn’t consider going for those comforts. Jaskier remembers the early day of their friendship, when a bath was just a cursory thing to get rid of all the monster guts sticking to his skin and hair. He remembers being allowed to help Geralt the first time, and forcing him to stay within the bath. For the first time, Jaskier had realized that Geralt’s hair wasn’t an awful shade of grey, but rather a beautiful white. The White Wolf indeed.

It takes a handful of minutes for the maids to draw a bath, and in that time, he helps Geralt out of his armour, making sure that all the wounds he finds aren’t serious. Geralt is absolutely terrible at noticing the pain he is in, and if Jaskier doesn’t pay attention for the both of them, the wounds could get much worse, even with Geralt’s mutations enhancing his healing. 

“You got them both then,” he murmurs, caressing the slight wound at the base of Geralt’s neck and applying a salve to it. “Did they pay you well enough?” 

It’s a regular question, something Jaskier would always ask, because he knows that Geralt is too kind for his own good. Too noble and good, too willing to let people walk over him because he believes he can’t hurt them. Now, Jaskier thinks there may be the undercurrent belief that he isn’t worth it anyway. Geralt doesn’t love himself much, that Jaskier had noticed early on. He hates that he hadn’t noticed until the previous night how much it ran through Geralt, that deep self-hatred, making him reject all the compliments and all the tenderness Jaskier could show him. It’s not even conscious, Jaskier doesn’t think so at least. He knows Geralt loves him, and he knows the man would do anything for his happiness. He just hasn’t understood yet that Jaskier feels very much the same way. Jaskier is a Muse, his love is never-ending, and he has it all focused on Geralt. He will make him understand. 

“Enough for a new outfit for you,” Geralt grunts. “I know you hate when your outfits don’t match.” 

“It’s not what I asked though,” Jaskier sighs softly and caresses Geralt’s chin. “Please.” 

Geralt grunts again but doesn’t pull back from the touch, doesn’t look away from the blue eyes staring into his own. “Just for one kikimora. That was the contract.”

“How dare they,” Jaskier immediately protests indignantly. He has half a mind of going down there and yelling, finding whoever hired Geralt and make them pay. Actually, no, not half a mind. He is going to do exactly that. He is going to find the disgusting, worthless, useless son of a—

“Calm down,” Geralt smiles slightly. “It’s fine. Payment for one is better than for none.”

“You deserve to be paid the right amount, Geralt. You weren’t hired for two kikimoras, and you still killed both of the damn things, didn’t you? You could have gotten seriously hurt, Geralt. You could have died, for all the gods’ sake!” 

“I’m holding the only god who matters in my arms,” the witcher tries to distract him with a kiss in his neck. “I don’t care for the others’ sake.” 

“Then for my sake,” Jaskier pulls back, and he can feel the shameful prickle of tears in his eyes. He loves this witcher so much, and he won’t ever stop loving him, and the idea that Geralt doesn’t  _ see _ that breaks his heart. “For my sake, my love. I can’t bear to know that you are not being compensated enough for the dangers you take. Do you not see what they are doing to you? They are stealing, taking what is rightfully yours and withholding it! They deserve to be punished for that.” 

“You’re not a punishing god,” Geralt shrugs. “You are a Muse, aren’t you? Beauty and Inspiration and the Arts are yours, aren’t they?” 

“I can punish, Geralt. And for you? I would do it a hundred times over, until all the curses blemish my skin and force me to retreat into a non-corporeal form. I love you, my witcher, I love you more than I know what to do with on some days, and I love you more than anyone should be able to love someone else. You are the love of my life, Geralt, the love of my immortal life, and I would willingly know death and suffering and pain than to see you being treated lesser than your worth.”

The golden eyes of his lover are suddenly a bit less warm, a bit less welcoming. It feels like he is disconnected from the present or like he has seen a ghost of his past, here to haunt him and remind him that no, he is not worthy and that he does not deserve all the things Jaskier is giving him. 

“You don’t have to,” he starts saying but Jaskier quickly slaps his hand on his mouth. 

“Shut up,” He snaps a bit, but quickly he moves his hand away from Geralt’s mouth, and he makes his lover sit on the bed, climbing on his lap gently. He presses their forehead together and tries to not let the tears in his eyes fall. “Please, stop. Please. Let me… Let me love you. Let me show you that I love you. Let me tell you how much I love you. Let me be as committed to you as you are to me. Please, please let me love you.” 

He begs, begs and pleads, and he finally lets the tears fall. They are bitter as they roll on his cheeks, slowly falling on Geralt’s cheeks. Jaskier closes his eyes and lets them fall, lets all his emotions pour out of him. He won’t sing for anyone but Geralt tonight, because right now, Geralt  _ needs _ to hear this from him, needs to understand the depth of Jaskier’s feelings. 

The maid is long gone and the bath is cooling, but Jaskier doesn’t move. He hasn’t yet thought of the melody for the song he wrote, but if he pulls on his powers, if he forces them to cooperate and bend to his will the way he tries not to on regular days…  _ There _ .

When he starts singing, it isn’t the haunting tone he had thought it would be. Rather, it is a soft tune, full of passion and love, and he can’t bring himself to change it. He wouldn’t anyway. It’s the right melody, the right notes, and it blends perfectly with his words.

_ To have all the dukes and lords pale, _

_ To have all the whores blushing,  _

_ To have all the echoes screaming for mercy,  _

_ To have the walls of every holy city shake,  _

_ I will love you. _

_ To have hell’s lights burn in your eyes,  _

_ To have all the gods thunderous,  _

_ To have your breathing stop,  _

_ To have our hands praying and begging, I will love you.  _

_ I will love you like no one has ever loved you,  _

_ I will love you more than any dream has ever told you,  _

_ I will love you, I will love you, _

_ I will love you like no one has ever dared to love you,  _

_ I will love you like I have dreamt to be loved,  _

_ I will love you, I will love you.  _

_ To have the night grow old and white,  _

_ To have the light burn into the day,  _

_ With passion and until madness,  _

_ I will love you, I will adore you. _

_ To have our eyes grow weary and close,  _

_ To have us suffer, to have our bodies fall down,  _

_ To have our souls fly until they reach the heavens, _

_ To have us dead and make love still, I will love you. _

_ I will love you like no one has ever loved you, _

_ I will love you more than any dream has ever told you, _

_ I will love you, I will love you, _

_ I will love you like no one has ever dared to love you, _

_ I will love you like I have always wanted to be loved, _

_ I will love you, I will love you. _

He stops, and his breathing is ragged, the tears on his cheeks dry, but his eyes are still closed. He can’t bear to look at Geralt, can’t bear the crushing realization that all of this is worth nothing. Jaskier, despite being a Muse, is used to failure. He wove a song to inspire the certitude of his love, to let Geralt know the truth behind his every word, but what makes him think it will work? What good could ever come out of it? Geralt will be angry he wasted his time on a silly song and—

“My love…” Geralt whispers tenderly. “My heart… This was…” 

Jaskier’s eyes crack open slowly. “Geralt…?” He pulls back slightly, settling further away so that he can fully takes in his lover’s demeanour.

Geralt is thrumming with warmth and awe, and there is something that has changed ever so slightly in his demeanour. A more relaxed set of shoulders, perhaps, or simply the way he hasn’t yet moved away from the tender embrace despite Jaskier’s repeated love declaration. There isn’t any magic responsible for this, Jaskier knows so. He hasn’t used his magic to do anything but create the song, and that act would not affect Geralt, especially not to a degree that he is rendered almost speechless. No, that comes from Geralt. It comes from his own reaction to the song. 

“This was beautiful, my love,” Geralt finally croaks out and pulls him into a tender kiss before continuing. “Is that what you were writing when I walked in? Is that what you spent the day working on?” 

“I needed it to be perfect for you,” Jaskier murmurs in a rush. “I wanted you to know that… that I would never stop this, stop loving you. That I don’t need anything more from you than just… this. Your love. Our love.” 

“You have my love, and…” Geralt hesitates a bit, reaches out to touch his cheek. “And I have yours. You love me. You truly do…” 

“More than anything in the world,” he murmurs again and presses a tender kiss to Geralt’s forehead. 

“You love me,” he repeats, again and again, like a mantra, and Jaskier presses kisses to his face tenderly with every repetition. 

Jaskier lets him have this, allows him to take comfort in the knowledge and the faith in this. It’s a small comfort, but to them, to Geralt, it means the world. Because Geralt has always believed himself unlovable, and today, for the first time, he is seeing that it isn’t true. 

They move to the bath at some point, when Geralt has calmed enough, when his eyes don’t water anymore with every single thought, when they have traded kisses until their lips are bruised. Jaskier rests his head against Geralt’s chest. The water is warm again, thanks to a carefully done igni, and it feels good to soak in the warmth of both water and love. 

“Thank you,” Geralt rumbles, not startling him fully but surprising him still. It isn’t often that Geralt will be the one to break the quiet that settles over them during their shared baths. “For the song. Thank you for doing that.” 

“Of course,” Jaskier moves his head and smiles brightly, looking up at his lover. “I told you , I would do anything for you, and if that means singing you a love song again and again, I will.” 

“Is it… Is it just for me?” Geralt looks slightly embarrassed to be asking, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. “Are you going to sing it in inns and at courts?” 

Jaskier shakes his head slightly and takes Geralt’s hand in his own, kissing the palm of it tenderly. “Never. It’s yours. It’s a song just for us, not for anyone else to hear. It’s my pledge to you, my oath to love you forever. It would be wrong of me to share it with people who can never hope to understand it. I love you, Geralt, and that love is ours, and I would not share it with a world that could never understand the beauty of what is ours.” 

“So many pretty words,” Geralt chuckles, but there is a fondness in his eyes, a tenderness as his thumb caress the lips of his lover. “You never quite cease to amaze me, my love.” 

The affectionate pet name makes Jaskier blush. It’s not often that Geralt lets himself be so soft and tender, and he is still a bit unused to it, despite the fact that he knows Geralt loves him. There is something so special in being called that. He loves being Geralt’s. He is his lover, his Muse, and Jaskier would never have it any other way. He belongs with Geralt. 

“I could say that of you,” Jaskier smiles and touches one of the light cuts. “Look at you, all battle ready. Anyone would kill to be by your side, and yet you chose me.” 

“A choice I would make in a hundred lifetimes,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier doesn’t quite know how to answer this. So simply he says, “I know.” And Geralt’s eyes are even more tender, even more full of love, and the bard isn’t sure he can handle much more, because his own heart is thundering in his chest. He feels weak with love, and drunk with it at the same time. 

Geralt starts moving again, placing Jaskier back correctly on his chest, and starts washing them both. Jaskier lets him, smiling at the way his lover’s gestures are both efficient and gentle. It’s nice, to let Geralt take care of him this way, and while he helps, Geralt insists on doing most of it. Warmth makes Jaskier’s cheeks red. 

“Have you ever considered getting married?” 

The question takes Jaskier by surprise. They are having their meals, a warm piece of bread with a healthy stew, and he chokes on a gulp of the ale. Geralt’s face is blank, a mask of indifference, and Jaskier doesn’t really know what to make of that. Is that Geralt proposing, or is there something else? Did he miss something in the conversation? 

“I mean, it all depends with whom we are speaking of,” he answers when he has managed to catch back his breath. “I’m a Muse, so I would have to bind myself to the person I chose to marry, and not everyone could withstand that.” 

“I could.” Geralt’s face is serious and stern, golden eyes showing determination. It’s something that Jaskier has only seen when Geralt was fighting monsters before, not ever when they were alone. With him, Geralt allows himself to relax, allows his face to show some emotions. Jaskier doesn’t like the mask of blankness and harshness that his lover puts up; only because he knows how expressive and how beautiful Geralt is when he allows himself to be emotional. 

“Yes,” Jaskier agrees, taking a swig of his ale again. If this is Geralt’s idea of a proposal, then Jaskier is going to make him work harder for it. “It’s very likely that that kind of bond wouldn’t harm you in any way. Perhaps, it could even enhance some of your abilities. 

“I don’t need anything enhanced,” Geralt shrugs, and looks more intensely at Jaskier, although he is still pretending he is emotionless. His eyes are all Jaskier needs to read him. “Are you considering it?” 

Jaskier grins a bit, a corner of his mouth lifting and he winks. “It depends on who asks.” 

He can almost see Geralt grinding his teeth, and he holds back a satisfied smirk at seeing his lover so frustrated at his own wording abilities. The witcher is getting better at saying what he wants, at telling Jaskier his thoughts without holding back. But sometimes, Geralt gets stuck on things that really matter to him. And Jaskier would help normally, but this… This is a matter he wants Geralt to use his own words, no matter how stilted and awkward. If Geralt is truly serious, asking something like that of Jaskier with every intention to follow through… Then Jaskier believes that he will be able to form the words he needs. After all, he must have been thinking about it, for quite a while. 

It breaks his heart a little, to imagine Geralt thinking over and over again about wedding and marriage, all the while believing that he had nothing to offer Jaskier. The song might have done the trick for the day, might have pushed into Geralt’s mind the truth of Jaskier’s love, but it is also not a finished project. Jaskier would gladly convince his lover of the truth of his feelings, would happily take on his shoulders the gentle burden of tenderness and devotion. After all, hasn’t he devoted years already to this man? What’s a handful more? When your life stretches to eternity, you learn to cherish what joys it brings you. 

“I am. Asking, I mean.” Geralt groans a bit at his own words and takes a deep breath, reaching out to take Jaskier’s hand in his own, something like nervousness running through his face. “I want… I want to be yours, as much as you will allow me to be. I want to be your husband, if that is something you want to. I want to be able to say proudly that you are my husband. That you chose me. You are… I don’t have the words you do to describe things. You just are Jaskier, and I love you. I want to be your husband, and to call you mine.” 

The admission, even if expected, still cuts Jaskier’s breath. He’s so proud of his lover. He’s so proud, and he can’t help the tears of joy in his eyes. It’s not simply for the proposal, he realizes as the first fall down his cheeks and Geralt looks panicked. He is so full of happiness that it is overflowing inside him, because Geralt is choosing him, over and over again, but also Geralt is choosing himself. The witcher is choosing their relationship, putting it ahead of the thought he had before. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt is concerned and he leans over the table, his free hand cradling the Muse’s face. “What’s wrong?” 

A wet chuckle answers him. “Nothing is wrong. I’m happy, don’t you realize? Of course I would love to call you my husband, Geralt. I would love nothing more than to call myself yours, and to be able to say proudly that you chose  _ me _ .”

Delight blooms on Geralt’s face, and that is the most beautiful thing Jaskier has ever seen. Each time pure joy hits Geralt this way, he becomes even more beautiful than before. It has always made Jaskier wonder if there was something inhuman about Geralt, but he has never felt anything beyond witcher. It’s enough for Jaskier anyway; his lover is beautiful and otherworldly on his own, and he’ll worship every day at the altar of his own private god. 

“So… You will marry me?” 

“Yes,” Jaskier laughs slightly, squeezing the hand holding his own. “Of course I will marry you. I’ve made it quite clear, isn’t it? I will love you till the end of times, and even further. Nothing could stop me from loving you. Nothing could stop me from staying by your side.” 

Joy fits Geralt, and Jaskier knew that, but now, he is even more determined to see it every single day of his life. Leaning over the table, he steals a brief kiss from the Witcher’s lips. After all, they are still in public, but Jaskier couldn’t resist. A smile like that, a moment this strong between them? It required a kiss. It requires a lot more than a kiss, truth be told, but for now, they still have a meal to finish, and Geralt’s pleased smile doesn’t leave his face. 

They are both quiet now, something holy in the moment that they share, just after this declaration. It’s different from before, less frantic with love, and more of a soft lull, a quiet happiness that fills their lungs.

They finish their meals in that silence, letting the quietness of the evening rule over them. It’s difficult for Jaskier to stop thinking about Geralt’s expression, the way pure delight had filled him when Jaskier had said yes. He can’t help but wonder some day, how he would have done, had he never met Geralt back in Posada. 

After all, he had only come down in corporeal form after his sisters had dared him. He hadn’t been shy, had never had anything shy about him, but he had been … tentative. He had seen what humans could use his inspiration for, had seen what they could do when they got an idea. It was a strange thing for him, and a certainly uncomfortable one too. He had hated it, the drain that humans caused in his powers. They sucked every bit of inspiration dry, took it for granted and treated him as if he were garbage. 

Before he had come down, after all, there hadn’t been many who knew of the Muses anymore. They were old folktales now, forgotten amidst the live legends that walked amongst them. Queen Calanthe, the Lioness of Cintra, Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, and so many others that Jaskier had heard the men he walked by talking about. It was always a wonder, the way humans talked about mortals as if they should be revered, or feared, the way gods should have been, but then they turned around and spat in the face of the gods. It was a wonder, and something that Jaskier had sought to correct throughout the years. 

Geralt had said it himself; Jaskier isn’t the punishing god, is not one to curse and have people suffer. After all, a Muse’s whole reason of existing is to create joy, to bring something beautiful into the world. Jaskier had been made to create, to perfect and inspire. But he had molded himself a shell of spite and anger. He had not let the humans come close to his heart, not until they proved themselves worthy of him. 

And then, Geralt of Rivia had come along. It had taken some time for Jaskier to realize the diamond in the rough that he was. It had taken even longer for Geralt himself to realize that he was not the monster some people made him out to be. And now, Jaskier had peeled yet another layer of hatred that had stuck to Geralt’s heart. He had lifted it gently, had laid his love all over the bleeding, festering wounds, and now he could only hope that they would both be happy this way. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” Geralt observes as they walk back into their room, his hands already unfastening the buttons of his own outfit. “I would have thought that you would be speaking quite a lot, after not seeing me for a whole day. You’re usually quite hard to shut up.” 

Jaskier laughs at the jab. “I think you’ve found excellent ways of shutting me up, my dear.” 

“Yes,” Geralt grins and comes to bite his lips, holding him tightly. “I like to think I have.” 

Jaskier lets him pull at his lips, lets him tease, before slipping his hands underneath the shirt his lover is wearing. “You already had me under your spell with your proposal earlier,” he sighs slightly, happily, when Geralt’s teeth graze at his neck, leaving small bites. “I didn’t think it necessary to demand to be shut up more.” 

There is a low rumble echoing from Geralt’s chest as he chuckles, and that is still a joy to hear for Jaskier. He loves pulling all those happy sounds from the witcher, has been learning them, learning how to make Geralt laugh more. Amongst other things. 

He pulls his lover to the bed, both of them undressing while sharing kisses. It’s not a hurried thing, it’s tender and when Jaskier pushes inside of Geralt, the look of ecstasy on his lover’s face is enough for Jaskier to start murmuring his love into his skin.

He’s never going to stop telling Geralt how much he loves him. It’ll never be enough for him, lavishing his love onto this man. He could write him a thousand poems, a thousand songs. Jaskier would dive into the darkest seas and pull down the harshest mountains for Geralt of Rivia. 

They both lay panting slightly afterwards, messy in a much more pleasant than before, and Geralt drags his lover against him, smiling tenderly 

“I love you,” he whispers softly, quiet and tender, something just for them. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier says with a tender smile, and for the first time, he sees Geralt listening to those words. 

**Author's Note:**

> The song is NOT MINE! It's a translation (which I did) of "Je vais t'aimer" by Michel Sardou, which is one of my favorite french songs (yes i'm french) and it is the tenderest, sweetest, most beautiful love song. And each time I listen to it I sing of those idiots and I melt!! So here you have it. 
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos!! Come chat with me on tumblr (@saltytransidiot)


End file.
